


Always You

by The_Royal_Gourd



Category: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (Movies)
Genre: Bad Flirting, I am a small afraid bean and so is seaplane it turns out, I cant do tags on my phone, M/M, Maps, Please Kill Me, Pre-Relationship, This is my version of flirting, What are tags??, because maps, my weird attraction to Jack Black, they sit, those boys looking at each other, why is maps a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22506163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Royal_Gourd/pseuds/The_Royal_Gourd
Summary: Jefferson Seaplane McDonough is on a quest. One that involves flying things, chases whilst in said things and lots of camping out in nature.Now he's on watch and the only other person still awake is one Shelly Oberon.Shelly who is smart and hard working and very good looking. It's gonna be a long night.
Relationships: Jefferson "Seaplane" McDonough/Sheldon "Shelly" Oberon
Comments: 11
Kudos: 82





	Always You

Seaplane sits by a low burning fire, logs charred black and glowing bright orange as they crackle. Sheldon Oberon sits on the edge of the glow squinting over a map. The others have gone to sleep already, Bravestone won’t be taking watch shift for a couple hours more at least.

Shelly isn’t his watch partner or anything. Not that Seaplane minds the, company? Sure, we’ll go with company. Point being, Sheldon Oberon is a genius. The only one alive who could decipher the strange map the group is following. So he’s up instead of sleeping. Like he probably should be. He’ll still have to take a watch after all. Lots of dangerous things that can kill you in the jungle.

Seaplane is not a genius. Well, maybe in the aerial sense. He flies more classes of plane than anyone else he knows, could probably fly anything given the need. But he’s not a genius like Shelly is. Sheldon is. Seaplane glances over, Sheldon is set up with a couple of crates, lantern perched on one corner. His glasses flirt with the end of his nose and Seaplanes flirts with the idea of pushing them back up, his fingers twitch and twiddle. The urge to push them back up is strong. He rubs a hand over his dark scruff and angles his face so that Seaplane can see his lips form around invisible words. Shelly cuts a look his way, and Seaplane doesn’t know how to describe it other than something he would expect from a femme fatale, all dark eyes with hooded lids and fanning lashes.

But that’s just how Shelly looks sometimes. Now he’s caught seaplane watching. Shelly turns towards him, a more familiar and wide-eyed look that screams, ‘I have just learned the most delightful thing’. He isn’t sure what delightful thing Shelly is always learning but likes the way his eyes shine anyway.

“Are you interested in the map?”

Seaplane makes a face like a broody owl and hunches into his bomber jacket on reflex. “No?”

Shelly laughs, the corners of his mouth curving and crinkling his eyes. He leans forwards planting his elbows on his knees. “You’re sure?”

If anything Seaplane feels bewildered, his eyes feel too wide as he gawks at Shelly. “Yes?”

“Well, come over here for a minute anyway. I could use fresh eyes.” Shelly drags over a crate, the fire pops and sizzles next to seaplane.

He scratches at the back of his neck, “I don’t know what I could do to help.”

“You’re a pilot aren’t you?”

“uh, yes.”

Shelly’s eyes are warm and inviting when he pats the makeshift chair. “So you know how to read a map. Just take a look, it couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay.” Entirely without his permission Seaplane finds himself sitting next to Shelly. Almost confused about how he got there. Shelly’s already gesturing at the map, hands moving over the paper like it’s a thousand-year-old relic. Maybe it is.

Seaplane imagines those soft hands exploring the spaces between his ribs, dusting him off with delicate brushing strokes. He feels like he might kill to see Shelly on an archaeological dig.

“-So basically I just have to find our way through this precipitous and entirely impassable mountain range spiced delicately with an impassable crevasse.” Shelly rubs at his mouth, grinning at seaplane through his fingers. “Maybe not entirely impassable. What do you think?”

The Jungle is loud in the quiet after Shelly’s question. Seaplane looks at the map, scratches at his stubble, tries to look like he’s thinking and not trying to figure out what he missed. He combs a hand through his hair, glancing at Shelly’s expectant face and back to the map. He takes a deep breath in, holds it. Tries to actually read the map instead of looking at it. Breathes out, and actually remembers that he can.

Alright. Seaplane sees the mountains Shelly is talking about, the only ones with a crevasse cutting a jagged line through their middle. “We could take a plane.”

Shelly laughs, looking like Seaplane is the delightful thing he’s just learned. “That we could.” he plops an elbow down on their crate-table and rests his chin in his hand. “Where would we land it afterwards?”

“Anywhere flat enough.”

“What if there isn’t a flat enough place? We’re in a densely jungled area you know.”

“There will be.” Seaplane can always find landing room. It’s part of what makes him a good pilot. “We could always get something that can land in water.”

Shelly beams, “then it’s decided,” the full force of that look directed at him. “When we get to town, we’ll find a plane.”

Seaplane’s fingers clutch at his shirt over his heart. He's got that warm kind of ache when there’s proof of the kind of good you give up on believing. Shelly turns back to the map, he mumbles as he traces their path a final time. Leaving Seaplane both bereft and grateful. He returns to his place by the fire, feeling colder next to the flames.

He eyes Shelly, who’s gentle fingers skim across the map, rolling it up to tuck safely away.

Shelly plants his hands on his thighs. “Alright, I should get some sleep before my shift.” He looks at Seaplane with kind eyes, “thank you for your help, Mr. McDonough.” Seaplane nods. Shelly levers himself up from the crate and goes to his tent. Seaplane watches him untie the draws on the flaps. His fingers twist into his shirt seams, words build like lava in his throat-

“Jefferson.”

Shelly looks at Seaplane. Seaplane coughs into his fist, eyes darting to the campfire and back.

“Or most call me Seaplane-” He huffs out a breath- “I don’t think I’ve ever been called mister in my life.”

Shelly’s grin plays at the edge of his lips, “you’re gonna have to tell me that story, I bet it’s a good one.” With that, Shelly ducks into the tent. Completely oblivious to the heart of Jefferson Seaplane McDonough beating like a drum just outside.

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I scream, just for a minute.
> 
> Turns out I only write trash that is way too exposing about me and who I am as a person.
> 
> If you read this, please, don't read the Mr.Clean fanfiction


End file.
